Baby Love Lite

by ANDREA SMITH

  Baby Love - LITE

  A novel by Andrea Smith

  Text copyright © 2013 by Andrea Smith. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under The U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior express, written consent of the author.

  Published By: Meatball Taster Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9898250-3-0

  ISBN-10: 0989825035

  All characters and events in this book are fictional; any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is intended for adult readers only

  FBI ANTI-PIRACY WARNING

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in FEDERAL PRISON.

  Published By: Meatball Taster Publishing

  Illustrated By: SueBee

  www.BookCoversbySueBee.com

  This book is dedicated to all of my GR, FB and Amazon buddies who've been there to support me in my journey of self-publishing! I love you all and I'm truly humbled by the outpouring of support I receive from you on a daily basis! Sometimes the criticism is hard to take, yet I know that it's meant only to help me reach my full potential, so THANK YOU for believing in me and in my work!

  Baby Love Playlist

  "Dreams" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Cranberries

  "You Are So Beautiful" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Joe Cocker

  "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap " . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . AC/DC

  "Disco Inferno" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Trammps

  "I Melt With You" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Modern English

  "Chasing Cars" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Snow Patrol

  "How To Save a Life" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Fray

  CHAPTER 1

  Preston had turned one month old today. I marvelled at how much she looked like her father. I couldn’t have been more pleased. Trey had tried to convince me that she had a lot of me in her. He usually brought the resemblance to my attention whenever she whined or cried.

  Preston had inherited Trey’s sapphire blue eyes and also blessed with his dimples. We'd recently discovered this because she was now smiling for us. Trey would absolutely not let her cry. It was heart-warming to see how he fussed over her when she became agitated or unhappy. I found it quite endearing and totally out of character for him.

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  Epilogue

  BONUS CHAPTER

  I led the short, dark-haired woman down the corridor to the room where inmates were allowed to meet with their legal counsel. I wasn't real comfortable breaking the rules, since I knew this bitch wasn't an attorney but a relative.

  Hell, the nice chunk of change she laid on me was worth a little risk-taking since the county didn't pay shit to the guards that had to oversee these bastards day in and day out. Besides, it was the graveyard shift and most of the other guards were sleeping or on a smoke break. What the hell? I mean what harm would it do? The skinny bastard was likely to fry anyway with all the murder one charges that had been slapped against him.

  I opened the door, stepping aside so she could enter the small, private conference room. She looked around as if she wanted to make sure it met her expectations. She was mighty snooty for a bitch that'd whelped a loser such as Matthew Renaud.

  "Have a seat, Ms. Deeny. I'll be escorting Matthew here in just a few minutes." She nodded, turning her hawkish, wrinkled face from me quickly as if the sight of me disgusted her! Get a clue, bitch! You're a fucking loser just like your son!

  All the guards knew the story of Matthew Renaud. There're no secrets in county jails or federal prisons for that matter! What the hell else was there to keep everyone entertained other than spreading gossip which may or may not be true?

  In Matthew's case, the source was fairly reliable: the county shrink was fucking one of the first shift supervisors. Matthew was apparently a real nut job; had learned about sex from his own mother as a young kid. His father had gotten wind of it and promptly got full custody of him.

  Once his parents had died suddenly in a horrible car accident that the twisted midget had orchestrated, she'd convinced him to take up where they'd left off. He was over 21 by then; she taught him the way to pleasure women, then tasked him to take that knowledge to teach and then pimp his own damn half-sisters for which he'd legal custody at the time. The elder of the two sisters was totally on board with it; probably some genetic thing that ran through the 'Renaud' bloodline.

  His mother apparently shared in the wealth, and with her connections to some very prominent families in New Orleans and Baton Rouge (one in particular where she'd worked as a household staff supervisor) she was able to orchestrate even more devious schemes using Matthew as her foot soldier.

  She'd used Matthew as her point man in getting an up and coming federal judge who was engaged to the daughter of the family she was working for caught in a "compromising" position of sorts. The dude apparently was a good and honest guy, but was convinced to sow his wild oats one last time with a hooker who hadn't been "broken in yet." The poor judge thought that'd had meant she'd never sold her stuff before. He'd no idea the chick was a fucking virgin and that old Matthew had planted a video recorder in the room where he'd swiped her v-card! The plan was to show Preston Tylar the video after his father-in-law made the recommendation for appointment to the federal bench (anonymously of course) and to get a few thousand bucks out of him to keep his new bride and her family from finding out.

  The plan changed when it was discovered that the young, innocent half-sister got knocked up. The judge never knew a damn thing about it. The greedy midget had another plan in store; one that would prove quite lucrative over the next eighteen years. There'd been a couple of snags along the way, in particular, the fact that the baby's mother wanted no part of Matthew or his schemes any longer and tried to relocate to Mississippi.

  I opened the lock on his cell door. He was all scrunched up in the corner of his cell, on the cot with his knees pulled up to his chin, his skinny arms wrapped around his knees.

  "Come on, Renaud. Get your skinny ass up. Mommy Dearest's here to see you."

  I saw him tremble. God damn! Had he always been such a fucking wimp?

  "No, no," he said hurriedly, a nervous tick sh
owing itself on his face. He was shaking his head no vehemently. "Don't want to see her. She's going to be mad at me for telling Doctor Evans what happened. It was our secret. We promised each other we'd take it to our graves. I should've kept my mouth shut. Mommy's gonna be pissed."

  "Ahh, suck it up, dude. She'll get over it before Mother's Day, right? I mean what the fuck? Is she going to ground your ass?"

  He looked up at me as I stood waiting and I saw a thread of sanity briefly cross over his face. It was if his whole demeanour had changed and he was sane again, but only briefly.

  "You're right," he said, "I can take her down with me and she knows that."

  I escorted Matthew Renaud to the room where she waited for him. She'd paid extra for privacy. I'd acted like it was cool, but what she didn't know was I had the mic system in that room turned on so I could hear whatever was said. Again, despite what you see on television: there is NO attorney-client privilege in jail or prison. There are always ears listening!

  I listened to them when I got to the room next door. I'd told Karen Deeny to knock on the wall between us when she was finished. I also told her to make it quick; like ten minutes.

  I put headphones on to listen in. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end when I heard just exactly how sick that bitch was!

  "Matthew," I heard her say, "What exactly have you told the psychiatrist your lawyer had you see?"

  "I told her everything, Mom. I told her the truth."

  "And what exactly is your version of the truth?"

  "You know what it is; you know the truth. She asked about my childhood; about my dad and mother; and about you."

  "I am your mother," she spat.

  "You were my mother; you didn't raise me and we both know why."

  "I did that for your own good Matthew! I did it so that women wouldn't take advantage of you and so you'd know how to please them at the same time."

  "You made me sick in the head, Mom. You made me do things I didn't want to do!"

  "Like what?" she hissed.

  "Like poison two people, Mom. Two blood relatives!"

  "Bah!" she yelled, "You were best rid of the both of them! They spelled trouble and if you hadn't been so stupid in handling the matter, we'd have been very wealthy now. You've put me at risk with your ramblings to that shrink. Do you realize that?"

  "I only did what you taught me to do, Mother!"

  "I didn't teach you to fuck your own sister and get her pregnant, now did I?"

  "You made everything so confused in my mind. As a kid, you told me to do things to you that weren't right but you said they were."

  "Let's not rehash this shit, Matthew! Right now we need to be concerned with damage control. Your life's at stake here."

  "I don't give a shit about my life, Mom. I'm tired of the life I live; I'm tired of being used by you. I'm tired of having to hide all the time."

  There was a pause in the conversation. I strained to hear what was going to happen next. Sounded like the little wimp was trying to stand up to the shrimp bitch!

  "Matthew," she said, her voice lowered, "I have to tell you something. The fact that you've confessed your involvement to that county shrink is going to be used against you."

  "No, no it isn't Mom. It's confidential because of HIPPA law. She told me."

  "That's a damn lie you stupid bastard! See what I mean? You're simply setting yourself up and will end up dragging me down with you."

  "It was your idea, Mom. They were all your ideas. Maybe it's time for you to own up to them."

  "Oh yeah, and then what? I'm 65 years old Matthew. So I guess you'll feel better knowing I'm rotting in some prison too? What good will it do? We'll never see each other and you'll get the death penalty, I won't. So you'll be out of your misery long before I will."

  "What's your point, Mom?"

  "My point is this: you've already implicated me. So if you testify against me, I'll go to prison for life; you'll get the relief of death. I'd rather be dead."

  "So what choice do I have Mom? Maybe I won't get the death penalty if I cooperate?"

  "You really are crazy if you believe that! You've brought shame to me; and now you've cast me to a life behind bars with what you've told that shrink!"

  "I told her the truth!" he shouted.

  "The truth as you believe it; not the real truth! I loved you! I gave birth to you and then I lost you because of the filth you spread about me! It's time you grow up Matthew and take responsibility for what you've done to me or you'll burn in hell as sure as I'm sitting here."

  "I'm going to burn in hell for everything," he replied, dejectedly.

  "For once Matthew, for once in your life, spare someone from the pain and misery of your actions. Spare me, son."

  I could hear the dude crying now totally back to the sick mother-fucker he'd become, or maybe that he'd always been.

  "Tell me what to do, Mama," he whined, his voice sounding like a 5 year-old. "Tell me what I can do to be the sweetest one in town?"

  "Would you like me to sing that song to you, Matthew?"

  "Yes, Mama."

  "If I do, will you do what I ask you to do?"

  "Yes, Mama."

  I sat there, my feet propped up on my desk, listening in to a conversation that was probably the weirdest I'd ever eavesdropped in on. I heard her start the popular lullaby.

  Hush little baby don't say a word; Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird.

  If that mockingbird don't sing; Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring. . .

  When she'd finished if was if Mathew was in a different place; a more relaxed and subservient place.

  "Tell me what I need to do now Mama."

  I'd given them another five minutes than banged on the wall. As I went and unlocked the door, the change in Matthew's demeanour was drastic. He was quiet, compliant and resolved. His mother seemed confident and satisfied with the visit.

  I directed her to the exit, and then put the cuffs back on him, leading him back upstairs to his cell block.

  Once we got there and I got him situated in his cell, I removed the cuffs.

  "You need anything Renaud?" I asked before slamming the cell door shut.

  "No. I've everything I need right in here," he said. "I'm good to go."

  That was the last time I saw Matthew Renaud alive.

  CHAPTER 1

  Preston had turned one month old today. I marvelled at how much she looked like her father. I couldn’t have been more pleased. Trey had tried to convince me that she had a lot of me in her. He usually brought the resemblance to my attention whenever she whined or cried.

  Preston had inherited Trey’s sapphire blue eyes and also blessed with his dimples. We'd recently discovered this because she was now smiling for us. Trey would absolutely not let her cry. It was heart-warming to see how he fussed over her when she became agitated or unhappy. I found it quite endearing and totally out of character for him.

  I'd finally become a natural at breast-feeding and I loved the connection and bond it provided. It was something all our own; my daughter and me. Her pediatrician said she was thriving and instructed me to continue what I was doing.

  Susan and Clive had come to Atlanta after I was released from the hospital. Clive had stayed for a few days; Susan had stayed for two weeks, not allowing me to lift a finger at all. She cooked and cleaned; did laundry, basically giving Mrs. Harris nothing to do on her days at our apartment. Susan rocked Preston when I wasn’t. I think Trey had felt a bit left out but he'd been a pretty good sport about it.

  Susan had purchased Preston a full wardrobe that looked like it would accommodate her for the next couple of years. She and I had sat on the couch after our shopping excursion, going through all of the beautiful dresses purchased in every color of the rainbow for every season. She'd bought sweaters, rompers, onesies and nightgowns. We'd ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ as we laid out the various ensembles across the living room sofa. Trey had rolled his eyes upon coming home from work seeing all of the
clothing that his mother had purchased.

  “Mom,” he'd said, “It isn’t as if we haven’t bought things for the baby, already.”

  “Hush, Trey Michael,” she'd scolded in her lovely southern accent.

  “It's so much more fun picking out clothes for a baby girl. All I had were boys, so please indulge me. Besides, boy or girl, this is my first grandbaby and I'll spoil her as much as I choose.”

  Trey mumbled something about having to get a second job in order to keep Preston outfitted in the style for which her grandmother had gotten her accustomed. Susan and I'd exchanged amused smiles as he'd sauntered off to his study.

  Gina had hosted a baby shower for me the week before I delivered. We were set on everything. Gina had decorated the nursery in very good taste. She'd selected mint green and pale yellow as the color scheme. I'd selected the crib in dark mahogany with a matching dresser, changing table and rocker. We'd transitioned the sparsely furnished guest room at Trey’s apartment into a beautiful nursery that any baby would love. Trey had bought a large brown stuffed teddy bear with a light yellow bow tie the day he'd brought us home from the hospital. It was sitting in the corner of Preston’s crib which hadn't been used yet.

  We kept her in the beautiful white bassinet in our room, for now. Since I was breast-feeding and her nursery was down the hall a bit, I needed having her close to me. I'd been reading articles about the ‘family bed’ and ‘sleep sharing’ while in the hospital. I'd brought some brochures home with me.

  I discovered, through my research, that many pediatricians were staunch advocates of the practice. Based on studies, which had concluded babies who had co-slept with their parents, grew to be more confident and independent because of the early nurturing it provided. I hadn’t approached Trey just yet, with that idea.

  I had a few more baby pounds to lose although breastfeeding had definitely helped with the weight loss. I was taking a Pilates class with Gina on Tuesday evenings, the night Trey was assigned night to watch Preston. I'd only been to one class so far; tonight being the second class.